


Session

by roseforthethorns



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU only in the sense that Will isn’t sick yet in season 1, D/s undertones, Early slash, First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Therapy Session, occasional swear words, playing Calvinball with the timeline a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-29 08:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseforthethorns/pseuds/roseforthethorns
Summary: I’m honestly amazed I actually have something written mostly on my own. It’s also my first entry in the Hannibal fandom.For Only_1_Truth: for helping me to hear my characters again and for lending your impeccable skills to Hannibal’s side of the discussion.





	Session

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Only_1_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/gifts).

> I’m honestly amazed I actually have something written mostly on my own. It’s also my first entry in the Hannibal fandom.
> 
> For Only_1_Truth: for helping me to hear my characters again and for lending your impeccable skills to Hannibal’s side of the discussion.

Therapy with Hannibal Lecter was not something Will Graham would ever describe as normal. 

He had seen shrinks off and on since he was five and had, in kindergarten, impassively recounted an incident of classroom theft from the perspective of the culprit. The teacher had sent him to the school guidance counselor, and she was the first therapist Will had ever frightened. She wasn’t the last by any means. Two very memorable therapists had thrown him out as a basket case, and a third had been left in tears after two sessions. Those who stuck it out with him tended to get frustrated with Will’s ability to game the system and work circles around them. No one denied his intelligence, but with his social anxiety and difficulty developing deep emotional connections, he was a lousy patient. 

But working with Hannibal wasn’t... Will didn’t know how to describe it. Hannibal never disparaged Will’s experiences or told him he was losing his mind.If anything, Hannibal was the first person to not actively try to cross-examine him with every FBI mandated session. Will felt free to talk about anything, and after only a few months, despite his initial reticence, he found that he couldn’t really lie to Hannibal. Not well, anyway. And while he still didn’t like eye contact, he could meet Hannibal’s gaze for longer periods of time without feeling uncomfortable. Unlike with other people, Will never felt bombarded with emotions or fears or worries with Hannibal. There was only calm in that connection. 

It was comforting. In an unsettling sort of way. 

***************

This particular session found Will pacing by the bookshelves, unable to hold still. Elliot Buddish continued to haunt Will’s mind, as did his failed romantic overtures toward Alana Bloom. The latter burned the most, the rejection still fresh enough to feel like a new wound that stung with every breath. He knew better than to get his hopes up (_god damn it_, he really did), and he said as much to Hannibal while glancing at the meticulously ordered bookshelves in the doctor’s office. Will was more looking than seeing, feeling vulnerable enough to not want to meet Hannibal’s gaze yet. Everyone he ever got close to either rejected him, left him, or used him, and he had finally hit the wall. “It’s pointless to try anymore. I shouldn’t have kissed her.”

“Considering the fact that you can basically read the secrets of the other person when you get close, it is no wonder you feel that way,” Hannibal said from where he still sat in his chair, one leg over the other, fingers steepled in his lap. “Your natural empathy prevents you from remaining in your own head. Regardless of your intent, you can’t help but violate the sanctity of another’s mind.” Hannibal never needed to raise his voice; he always remained calm and even, his accent softening his consonants and lending a soothing quality that Will never found in any other sound. 

Will glanced back at Hannibal, briefly meeting his eyes before looking quickly away. “I’ve tried to turn it off before, to lock away that part of my mind. It never works and only makes the empathy stronger. But I had hoped...” He sighed, knowing his hopes really didn’t mean anything with this curse of an ability. “I had hoped for a moment that it would be different with Alana.”

Hannibal cocked his head, expression growing perhaps a bare iota more interested. "You're reducing this equation to a point of untenable simplicity, Will." 

“What do you mean?”

“You're balancing success and failure purely on your own shoulders. It's possible that the failure of that relationship had nothing to do with you." 

Will looked up, finally focusing on Hannibal as he tried to read his tone. He couldn’t hear anything judgmental, but this was still a sensitive subject, and like a cornered dog, Will’s hackles were raised. “But it _ is _ on my shoulders. Last I checked, _ I _ was the one whose mind was broken beyond the bounds of normalcy,” he replied bitterly. He leaned against the nearest shelf, not looking away from Hannibal this time, even though he was expecting to see pity; once again, Hannibal surprised him. Even without his ability to empathize with others, Will could very clearly see no trace whatsoever of pity anywhere on Hannibal’s face.

"You mustn't take agency away from Ms. Bloom," Hannibal chided gently. When Will continued to stare at him nonplussed, there was the faintest upward turn to one side of Hannibal's mouth, softening the rebuke. The older man went on, turning one hand palm-up in a graceful, offering-type gesture, "Let's broaden the scope of this discussion then. How often do you try and make intimate connections with other people?"

“I used to try more often,” Will admitted. “But now the only effort I ever make anymore is with my dogs. People are complex and banal and usually judgmental of what I am.” Will shrugged. “I really thought I had made peace with this. I haven’t tried anything like with Alana in years.”

"In all fairness, the closeness you have with your dogs is equally as valid as your relationship with other human beings," Hannibal nodded acceptingly. In response to Will's slightly shocked expression, the other man merely shrugged and said candidly, "You didn't actually expect me to argue with you about the banality of the average person, did you?" Again, there was that dry humor, as quick and deft as a butterfly-kiss.

That pulled a small chuckle from Will. “You are never quite what I expect, Dr. Lecter,” he said. “You’re the first psychiatrist to say anything that validates my experience. My life. I keep waiting for a lecture on unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional inhibitions.”

"I'm sure I could fabricate something like that if you wished." Hannibal's smile spread just a few millimeters more, something secretly delighted in his eyes.

“And become boring and predictable?” It was Will’s turn to smile, calling Hannibal’s bluff. “Come now, Dr. Lecter. We both know you’re better than that.”

In some infinitesimal way, Hannibal's smile deepened. "I would hate to disappoint," Hannibal said, accepting the praise graciously and lacing his fingers back across his abdomen. He looked terribly benign, an act of softness from a very sharp man. "If you do not want lectures, then how about scientific discourse then?"

“Discourse?” Will walked back towards Hannibal and stood behind the empty chair, resting his hands on the back of it. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. “On what topic?”

Hannibal's cheshire smile was fully in place, somehow more impenetrable than most people's expressions. "On you, of course. And your seeming inability to connect with the average person."

Will stopped breathing for a moment, Hannibal’s words sinking into him like cold before frostbite. Hearing it spoken in such a calm tone made it suddenly feel _ real _. “Maybe I find the ‘average person’ dull and irritating,” he said, all teasing gone from his voice. It was a tone he was familiar with: detached and emotionless- the same tone he had when analyzing a killer’s mind. 

"Then maybe you are seeking out the wrong people," Hannibal said in return, so swift that it was as if he'd anticipated the response and had a riposte poised and ready. "A connection with someone dull and irritating sounds worse than no connection at all."

“Until that person expects more than you’re willing to give or they discover you’re not remotely what they wanted after all.” Anger was starting to bubble in Will’s chest, hot and painful. He could see, clear as day, every single rejection he had ever experienced floating before his eyes. It was a type of experience that didn’t hurt less with time. “Perhaps I prefer to not be constantly cast aside.”

"The problem, then, really does seem to be with the people you are with," Hannibal dipped his head a bit to say; if he’d had glasses, he'd have been looking over their rims at Will, and suddenly it became clear that this conversation had come full circle. "Their expectations of you, and penchant for discarding you, are things only they can control, Will."

“You mean the people I choose to be with,” Will snapped. “I know I can’t control how others act, but I can’t change who-what I am. So they clearly take offense at me. At the way I think. I thought you were at least straightforward enough to tell me the truth to my face. Not imply it like some common shrink.” Will was gripping the back of the chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His jaw was set, as were his shoulders, and for once, he was staring at Hannibal in open anger, meeting his gaze head on. Will wasn’t even wearing his glasses; he had nothing to hide behind.

"Many people have poor taste, Will," Hannibal went on calmly. "So I must regretfully inform you that, in this case, you are not as abnormal as you claim."

“And yet I am the only common factor in it all. Perhaps your taste isn’t as refined as you like to think,” Will shot back defiantly.

Now Hannibal's brows lowered, but after a moment his expression smoothed out into something merely aloof, and he said in a low, steady register, "Correlation does not always equal causation. You are the only factor that you can see." To Will's utter frustration, Hannibal's voice then softened, the anger disappearing entirely from even Will's keen awareness, "You are allowed to have poor tastes without being the root of all failures, Will."

Will stared at Hannibal for a long moment, meeting the cool, impassive gaze. Despite the turmoil knotted in his chest, when he looked at Hannibal, he didn’t feel his awareness slipping away. Will felt absolutely and entirely himself. There was no escape for his anger for once; he had to actually feel it. 

He would not know (not yet, anyway) how close he came to rudeness in his anger or how lucky it was that Hannibal found him interesting, especially since calling Hannibal unrefined was akin to calling most people inbred Philistines. Those revelations would wait. In this moment, Will Graham could only think of one thing to do, one absolutely impulsive, reckless, irresponsible thing.

Will rounded the chair, forcing himself to move before he lost his nerve. This would be- no, _ was - _ horrendously inappropriate, but he needed to see. He had to know. He had spent his life isolated, exiled to the fringes of society because of a fluke in his mind, and no matter how many times he told himself it was all right, there was still this aching hole in his chest that longed for connection. If he didn’t do this now, then he never would, and dammit he wasn’t a coward! So, Will stopped in front of Hannibal, leaned down, and kissed him. 

It wasn’t exactly the most tender or nuanced of kisses, and Will could hear his heart pounding in his ears; adrenaline thrummed in his veins, leaving him both light-headed and acutely aware of what he was doing in that moment. His anger had morphed into fear and excitement which fed each other until he could barely hear for the roaring in his ears. Unsure of where to put his hands, he rested them on Hannibal’s shoulders. Will’s eyes were closed as he reveled in the moment... because he _ still _ remained entirely himself.

He hadn’t kissed a man before, but Will had enough experience to know that the other person shouldn’t be frozen in place. Hannibal seemed more statue than person, and panic rose rapidly in Will’s mind. He’d stepped out of line, broken the doctor-patient boundary so flagrantly that Hannibal was going to reject him too. He’d really fucked up, so Will began to pull back. 

And then Hannibal _ moved._

One moment Will was standing awkwardly in front of Hannibal, their lips pressed together, and the next he felt like he was flying backwards until his back hit the bookshelves hard enough to dislodge several heavy medical tomes, sending them cascading to the floor. Hannibal was everywhere, crowding Will back and utterly devouring his mouth.

Will had never been kissed like this. Ever. He had to force himself to remember to breathe through his nose while Hannibal delved into his mouth with his tongue. The taste of mint lingered with every searching swipe, so crisp and clean that Will could almost feel his tongue tingling. He was being kissed. By a man. By _ Hannibal Lecter. _ And by god if it wasn’t terrifyingly exquisite.

Will’s eyes were still closed, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could force them open. This was not what he had anticipated at all. He had expected Hannibal to lecture him on inappropriate conduct; instead, Hannibal was pinning him bodily to the bookshelves and kissing the life right out of him. Will’s toes were curling in his shoes from the sheer intensity of the moment, but just as his head started to catch up with everything, Hannibal changed his tactics. 

It was the growl that caught Will’s attention first; he could feel it reverberate in his own chest as Hannibal actually growled into his mouth. It was hungry. Possessive. It brooked no argument and no hint of stopping. Will might have whimpered, but his thoughts were scattered and slow to regroup. Hannibal’s leg was next, pressing slowly but firmly between Will’s legs so that Hannibal’s knee was set against Will’s groin. Will absolutely moaned then, the sound swallowed by Hannibal’s greedy mouth. He needed, wanted, to touch, but no sooner did he start to reach for himself? For Hannibal? than Hannibal caught his wrists and pinned them too, just a bit higher than where Will’s head rested against the shelves. 

Will squirmed, but moving only rubbed himself against Hannibal’s knee, and Will’s cock had certainly woken up and taken interest. He tried to ease the pressure, but whenever he tried to move, Hannibal held him fast. Will was no longer in control; Hannibal was. It was clear that Hannibal would decide what Will was and wasn’t allowed to have, and only when Will relaxed in the doctor’s firm grip did Hannibal reward him. The kisses softened for the briefest of moments, an answering gentle kiss to mirror Will’s initial overture, and then Hannibal was moving, rocking his knee, flexing his fingers, growling just a little louder and sucking on Will’s tongue until Will completely forgot how to breathe. 

While Will eventually lost track of time, lost in the moment and teasing pleasure, he never once lost himself, and the longer it lasted, the more he never wanted it to end. It was bloody addicting to be able to stay in his own head. He could feel Hannibal’s continued hunger, even as his own rose to meet it head on. He yielded himself, struggling less and less until he fully submitted to Hannibal’s power; the doctor rewarded him with another gentle kiss before licking back into Will’s mouth and swallowing his needy moan. 

It was Hannibal who finally broke the kiss, pulling back just enough so that Will could look him in the eye. Hannibal’s pupils, at this close proximity, were utterly blown; his eyes looked black, and Will shivered with want (and possibly fear) at the purely animal expression on the usually composed face. Hannibal’s perfectly styled hair had started to fall out of place, making him look even more handsome, damnit. Had Will ever noticed Hannibal’s cheekbones before? The way the slight smirk at the corner of his mouth was so utterly kissable? How the intensity of his gaze truly seemed to take people apart?

“I…” Will’s voice cracked, and he blushed, clearing his throat. “You can hardly say I have poor taste now, can you, Dr. Lecter?”

Something dangerous sparkled in Hannibal’s eyes, and Will felt more than heard the growl this time. “If anything Will, your taste is _ impeccable _.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and comments welcome!


End file.
